


Qaal and Pash

by CandyQueenAO3



Series: Of Raphael [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Raphael MIGHT have PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyQueenAO3/pseuds/CandyQueenAO3
Summary: Long before the Earth existed, before TIME existed, the Archangel Raphael was given orders to do what nobody but God has done before or since: create an angel.*~*~*~*~*Raphael hummed as he stirred the ingredients swirling before him with his staff. He had everything he needed (Aether, Stardust, a shit ton of Carbon, etc) to create a standard angel, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was missing something.  When Raphael thought about how his current formula would simply churn out another mindless servant of Heaven, he shuddered.No.He wanted this one to be different!
Relationships: Aziraphale & Raphael (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Of Raphael [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691935
Comments: 61
Kudos: 145





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thanks to my dear friend Witchie (aka CinnabarMint) for listening to me ramble about Raph and giving suggestions to up the angst factor!

Raphael’s newest duty was _bizarre._ His order, straight from the Metatron himself, was to create an angel.

“Isn’t that Mother’s prerogative? Why am _I_ supposed to do it?” the Archangel huffed at the disembodied Voice of God.

“We cannot question the will of the Almighty,” the Metatron drolled in a bored tone. “She requires a guardian for the Eastern gate of Eden. The garden is expected to be finished soon, and She would like _you_ to provide said guardian.”

Raphael didn’t even get the chance to protest his assignment before the Metatron had vanished. The Archangel seized his dark hair with both hands and gave a frustrated tug accompanied by a petulant stomp of his feet.

“ _This.”_ Stomp. “ _Is not.”_ Stomp. “ _Supposed to be.”_ Stomp. “ _My.” Stomp. “Problem!”_ STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

After a good sulk, Raphael gathered his thoughts enough to remember that, as an Archangel, he was required to obey his Mother’s Will, regardless of his own personal feelings on the matter. He grumbled a little bit more, but set out across Heaven to gather the necessary components to create another angel. 

*~*~*~*~*

Raphael hummed as he stirred the ingredients swirling before him with his staff. He _had_ everything he needed (Aether, Stardust, a shit ton of Carbon, etc) to create a standard angel, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was _missing_ something. When Raphael thought about how his current formula would simply churn out another mindless servant of Heaven, he shuddered.

_No._

He wanted this one to be _different!_

Raphael looked down at his own corporation. He was tall and muscular, though not quite as much as his twin, Gabriel. Raphael wanted the new angel to be _soft._ He snatched up a passing chunk of cloud and flicked it into the roiling mixture. The liquid churned and frothed. Bubbles floated from the surface to pop with a musical chime.

Raphael was now getting _excited_!

His hair was black, so he gathered a stray beam of moonlight to lighten the new angel’s own head and tossed that into the mixture as well. It started glowing.

Raphael’s eyes were green. A pretty color, but one he was used to. He wanted _new_. Raphael plunged his hand into the ground and wrenched out a pair of blue topazes for the eyes. Into the mixture they went with a cascade of sparks.

As Raphael prepared to Sing the Word to bring his creation to sentience, he paused. Sure, this new angel would _look_ different, but would they really _be_ different? No, this new angel needed something else. Something that few others had.

Raphael snapped his fingers in realization.

Then, he reached inside his True form and carefully began picking out bits and pieces of his own Grace. It wasn’t enough to make a sizable divot in his own powers, but it was certainly enough to give this new angel an extra _kick_. It wouldn’t be a lowly Ninth Sphere angel, but a Principality, most likely. When he was satisfied with his little pile, he dropped it in. The Grace cascaded out of his fingers like pearls, and the minute they touched the mixture, Raphael was seized by a peculiar feeling of affection for this heretofore nameless angel.

The Archangel took a step back, folded his hands as if in prayer, and began to Sing in Enochian.

“ **_Baltoha Bliard Zorge Bransg Toh Baltim In Bialo Piap Ialpir Nazps Iehusoz,” [1]_ **

The Words tumbled out of his mouth. One after another, he couldn’t quite seem to stop. He was only supposed to Sing _one_ Word to bring the angel to life, but he chose to put a little more _fervor_ into it. He sang for everything he wanted this angel to be: kind, merciful, _fun_ , and so many others.

Finally, he reached the end of his Song and the mixture, in a word, _erupted._ Raphael was briefly blinded by a flash of light that was different than the sterile feel of Heaven. It was warmer, like sunlight. When it coalesced into a fully grown angelic shape, Raphael felt a sharp tug on the Grace that still remained inside him as the Bond between them solidified.

In later years, he would describe the feeling as, “ _When you’re upstairs in your room and you hear the front door open downstairs from your family member coming home from the grocery store and you just_ know _they managed to find that exact flavor of ice cream you wanted._ ”

The angel before him blinked open a pair of eyes the exact shade of blue as the topazes Raphael had unearthed. When those eyes landed on him, the Archangel’s breath hitched.

“I…” the new angel spoke, sounding perplexed. “Pardon me for sounding rude, but may I ask your name? And for that matter, what’s mine?”

Raphael staggered forward. He wasn’t even consciously aware that he was weeping tears of reverent joy until the new angel reached out to brush them away.

Was this how She felt every time She crafted a new angel?

No, Raphael decided, this feeling was his and his alone. Though he wouldn’t know it until much later, when the Archangel of Healing descended to Earth to assist humans in their medicine, he would find his current expression perfectly mirrored by all loving parents looking into the eyes of their children for the first time.

Raphael cupped the new angel’s face in his hands like he was cradling a precious treasure. And he was.

“I...my name is Raphael, little one. I made you,” he exhaled with a tremulous breath.

The new angel beamed and the joyful pulse of his Grace echoed the one in Raphael’s chest. The Archangel bent down to press a soft, paternal kiss to the other’s forehead. “You are _of_ me. Of Raphael. Azi-Raphael.”

Azi-Raphael made an airy gasp of delight. “You are my _Qaal?”_

There were no words in Enochian for “parent” of any kind. There was the word for God, of course: _Iad_ , but most angels simply referred to Her by her given title (or “Mother” in later centuries once humans began popularizing the word). _Qaal_ meant creator. _Qaal_ , however, was used even less than _Iad._ To the angels, _Qaal_ felt deeply impersonal, like God had simply churned them out of an assembly line instead of Singing them into existence.

Azi-Raphael, of course, had no comprehension of this. He knew the language, but not the context with which some words were spoken. Hence, the flippant use of _Qaal._

Where Raphael _should_ have felt distaste, was instead a wonderful sort of _pride_ . Azi-Raphael said the word with such _love_ , how could Raphael take it to mean anything else? The Archangel gathered Azi-Raphael into a fierce hug, which was eagerly returned. The two angels swayed slightly on the spot basking in the warmth of familial love.

There was no Word for “parent”, but there was for “child”. It was _meant_ to be saved for use in referring to the tiny humans who would, very soon, be populating the Earth. Raphael, however, chose to give it to Azi-Raphael _first._

“ _In _ \- _Pash-Azi-Raphael," [2]_

_*~*~*~*~*~*_

1Righteousness Comfort Friendly Guard Triumph Justice Mine Voice Balance Flames Sword Mercies[return to text]

2"My child Azi-Raphael" (Dashes in Enochian frequently connote possession or ownership)[return to text]

_*~*~*~*~*~*_

**MEME BREAK**

Raphael when he first saw Azi-Raphael:


	2. A Sword and the Flood

**4004 BC, Heaven**

“Come on, up you get,” Raphael groused.

He extended a hand to the lower-sphere angel who sat on the floor at his feet, wings akimbo. The angel just stared at the healer’s hand. She reached out to take it, but pulled back at the last moment when she caught sight of her own blood trapped beneath his fingernails.

“I…” she stood up on shaky legs and tucked her now fully-healed wings away. “...I thank you for your aid, Archangel Raphael.”

Raphael scoffed as he started picking the blood out with a thumbnail. “You wouldn’t _need_ my aid if you hadn’t gone crashing headfirst into a comet like a blessed _fool_.”

The lower angel’s eyes fell to her feet in shame.

“I apologize, Archangel Raphael,” she mumbled. “I am still fairly inept at zero-gravity flight.”

“You’ll get better. Just don’t go cracking your ulnas on giant space rocks and I’ll consider us even. Those bones are hollow, you know!”

The lower angel managed a small smile. For all that Raphael was distant (and sometimes easily-annoyed) he truly _did_ want to take care of people. She looked back up at him, but the Archangel was already walking away at a decent clip, with an incandescent smile.

There was only _one_ angel who could make Raphael smile like that…

“Azi!”

Aziraphale looked up from where Gabriel was handing him something long and thin wrapped in a cloth bundle. Aziraphale greeted Raphael with a nod and let himself be pulled into a quick squeeze of a hug. Gabriel just rolled his eyes.

“Hello there, Raphael. Have you come to see me off?” the Principality asked.

Raphael pursed his lips, brow furrowed, obviously confused. “‘See you off’? Are you going somewhere?”

This time Gabriel rolled his eyes _and_ groaned.

“Come on, Raphael, you can’t _honestly_ have forgotten what you _built_ Azi-Raphael for in the first place,”

Honestly, for a moment, Raphael _had_. He’d just been so caught up in the happiness of having Aziraphale in the first place, that everything else just seemed so secondary.

“Oh. Of course not. Is Eden finished already?” he asked in an attempt to cover his embarrassment.

Aziraphale beamed in excitement. “It _is!_ I’ve been assigned to the Eastern Gate! Though, I suppose you both already knew that. Oh, but look! Gabriel gave this to me! He said it was from the Almighty Herself!” He pulled away the cloth, revealing a standard-issue shortsword polished to a mirror shine. The Enochian runes used to ignite it glowed faintly.

“A _weapon?!”_ sputtered Raphael. He turned furious eyes to his twin. “You gave him a _weapon_?! Have you lost your mind?!”

“How _else_ is he supposed to defend Eden?” Gabriel snarked back. Sensing an in, he drove the point home further. “Were you really going to chastise me for not wanting to send Azi-Raphael into duty _defenseless?”_

Judging by the stricken look on Raphael’s face, Gabriel had won that debate. He smiled with a sort of vindictive glee that Aziraphale, from where he was standing, couldn’t see.

“I’ll be _fine,_ Raphael. I doubt I’ll have much cause to use this silly old thing anyway,”

Aziraphale gave a clumsy, experimental swing of his sword that sent the two Archangels scrambling back to get out of the way of the whistling blade. Raphael plastered on what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Of course you’ll be fine, Azi. I built you to be strong, after all,”

With that, Aziraphale was dismissed to Earth to begin his duty. Raphael watched him go. Even when he was out of sight, the Archangel continued to stare after him until he felt his brother sidle up beside him.

“I don’t understand,” Gabriel stated with a shake of his head. “You did your job. We have our gate guardian. _Why_ then, do you spend so much time with him?”

“He’s my _son_ , Gabe,”

Raphael didn’t look at Gabriel, even as the other Archangel rounded on him. 

“‘ _Son’_ ?” The messenger spat the word like it was physically repulsive. “We’re _angels,_ we don’t _have_ children _or_ parents, aside from God Herself. Azi-Raphael is _just_ another construct, nothing more.”

Raphael snarled and his hands _itched_ to close around his brother’s throat and give him a good throttling. He settled for saying, icily, “I gave him life; a portion of my own Grace. I love him and he loves me. We look out for each other. What else would you call that besides family?”

“An abomination,”

Gabriel’s violet eyes flashed in what he thought to be righteous anger but to Raphael was only spite. Raphael knew how Gabriel felt about Aziraphale. Hell, he knew how _everyone_ in Heaven felt about him (save for their Mother, she was conspicuously silent on the matter). Aziraphale had been the firstangel to be crafted by another angel rather than the Almighty Herself. To everyone else, Aziraphale wasn’t even a “true” angel; he had been cobbled together with bits and bobs Raphael had scrounged up, instead of the pure Love of God. Aziraphale had been inundated with hand-me-down Grace, not even granted a proper well of his own to draw upon. Even his _name_ had not been truly his.

“Azi is _not_ an ‘abomination’ as you so _eloquently_ put it, you overstuffed, glorified _Ninth-Sphere_ ,”

Gabriel’s expression was _murderous_ at Raphael’s words.

_Good. Let him hurt. He thinks he knows how to hit where it hurts? Well, so do I._

A heavy hand came down on Raphael’s shoulder in a cruel mockery of fraternal affection hard enough to rattle the healer’s teeth. 

“I think you need to remember your place, _doctor_ ,” sneered Gabriel. “You’re an _Archangel._ Not a _parent_.”

The hand came away as and then Gabriel was returning to his office, no doubt congratulating himself on another successful intimidation.

Just like he had done with Aziraphale, Raphael watched him go.

*~*~*~*~*

**3004 BC, Mesopotamia**

Raphael’s head broke the surface of the water. Through the driving rain, he could see Aziraphale waving to him from a patch of land as of yet untouched by the deluge. The Archangel draped the sodden, limp human he had fished out of the water over his shoulders and swam towards the shore as best he could. 

When he was close enough, Aziraphale waded into the water to meet him and take the unconscious woman from his arms to lay her out on the shore. While Raphael dragged his way out of the water, Aziraphale pressed his ear close to the woman’s face.

“I...I don’t hear her breathing,” he said.

The two angels immediately began a resuscitation attempt in perfect sync. Aziraphale pinched the woman’s nose shut and placed his mouth over hers to deliver a series of breaths. After five of them, Raphael took over to deliver shallow compressions above the woman’s sternum. As the Archangel did so, Aziraphale could make out faint strains of him half mumbling, half singing a tune that wouldn’t exist for another few thousand years.

“...stayin’ alive...stayin’ alive…”

They took turns doing the same “breathe-compress” motions for several minutes, but it soon became clear their efforts were futile. Raphael refused to stop however, until Aziraphale had to seize him under the arms and drag him away from the corpse.

“No! No!! Azi, let me go! We can still... _I_ can still save- there’s gotta be _others-_ ”

“ _Qaal_ ! There _isn’t_ anybody else!”

Aziraphale gestured out at the grey, roiling clouds, the choppy waves, the rapidly shrinking scrap of “dry” land they had claimed for themselves. Raphael’s shoulders heaved before he dropped to his knees with a howl that could be heard even above the peals of thunder.

“ _What_ _good am I, then?!”_

Aziraphale went to the ground beside his _Qaal_ and wrapped the both of them in a pair of snow-white wings, now stained with mud. They rocked back and forth, holding each other against the burden of guilt that threatened to subsume the both of them. Eventually, Raphael’s sobs petered out into no less heartbreaking whimpers.

Aziraphale chewed on his bottom lip. His thoughts turned over and over in his mind just like the roiling flood around them. Raphael was clearly distraught at the idea of not being able to save the humans. The younger angel, however, knew where some surviving ones could be found. If Raphael could just _see_ that it wasn’t all hopeless, then he might feel better…

Then again, The Archangel might just smite Crawley on the spot once Aziraphale revealed what he and the demon had done.

A ragged cry, sounding like it had been _wrenched_ out of Raphael’s chest, made up Aziraphale’s mind. The Principality closed his eyes, prayed to Her that he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his existence, and mumbled, “I know where some survivors are.”

Raphael jerked his head up to meet Aziraphale’s gaze. The naked _hope_ shining out of those green eyes was almost enough to convince Aziraphale that he had made the right choice.

“W-where? Azi? Where are they?”

Aziraphale couldn’t look at his progenitor as he explained, “A...a friend of mine and I, we...we snuck a few children, just 30 mind you, nothing too extravagant...um...aboard the Ark before it set sail.”

Raphael’s jaw dropped.

“C...can I see them?”

Aziraphale _really_ wished Raphael hadn’t asked that.

“No, no, it’s alright. You don’t have to trouble yourself with them. They’re all quite dry and safe, I assure you! So you can go back to Heaven and get _far_ away from all this drowning nonsense,” Aziraphale stammered.

Raphael clutched at his child’s robes, the fabric bunched up under his fist hard enough to nearly tear.

“I _love you_ , Azi, and I _trust you_. I just...I need to see them. Please?”

Aziraphale stared down at the strange sight before him. Raphael, his _Qaal_ and one of the most powerful Archangels of the Host (second only to Lucifer himself), was kneeling before him with a desperate, manic sort of look to him; like any moment a single harsh word could shatter him into a million tiny pieces.

Aziraphale let Raphael hang off of him as they staggered to their feet together.

“Alright, come on. The Ark’s only a minute or two from here, as the angel flies,”

Raphael nodded, then unfurled a pair of wings the color of sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. The both of them caught a gust of freezing wind, and, still holding onto each other, glided their way over the tumultuous waters.

Every so often, Raphael would catch a glimpse of something _struggling_ (or, he hoped, simply being tossed lifelessly) under the water and would screw his eyes shut against the horrid sight, leaving Aziraphale to navigate the two of them. Soon enough they alighted on the deck of the Ark.

Aziraphale took his companion’s hand and the two of them made their way below, winding through the pens and cages of the animals who lowed in distress at the sounds of the storm outside. The younger angel stopped beside a pile of crates. He braced himself against them and pushed, revealing a trapdoor concealed beneath.

“Oh, Azi, that is _genius!”_ praised Raphael, a bit of his old spark already returning.

“It wasn’t my idea…” mumbled Aziraphale.

He was still refusing to look at Raphael.

He wedged his fingers into a gap between the trapdoor and the floor, and lifted. The door opened with a bit of protest, but didn’t make any sound. A simple, wooden staircase from which a soft light shone beyond led the two angels deeper into the bowels of the Ark.

Raphael was fidgeting in place, eager to see if his Azi’s promise of survivors was true, but he was held back from running right in when Aziraphale descended first.

Aziraphale, meanwhile, was hoping against hope that Crawley wouldn’t be there by the time they reached the bottom.

 _Please, please,_ please _, don’t let him be spotted._

When they reached the room that Aziraphale had miracled up to house the rescued children, Raphael’s breath caught in his throat. True to his son’s word, 30 children, the oldest no more than sixteen, were all huddled together in a pile of bedding, deep asleep.

“I used a miracle to ensure that they wouldn’t wake up until the voyage was over. Less chance of them being discovered that way,” Aziraphale whispered.

Raphael was about to burst into desperate, relieved tears when he caught sight of the _other thing_ amongst the children. It was a _demon_ in the form of a massive, black serpent looped and coiled through the pile in a bizarre contortion that ensured it was touching every single one of them! It’s hellish yellow eyes were open but still.

Asleep.

The Archangel was already moving before he was consciously aware of doing so. His staff, a heavy weapon of bronze and gold that could be summoned with just a thought was levelled right between the demon’s eyes.

Raphael’s arms were grabbed as fast as it had been conjured, however. Aziraphale yanked him away, wide-eyed and terrified.

“Azi!” Raphael hissed. “Let go of me so I can _destroy_ that thing!”

Aziraphale shook his head. “N-no, Raphael. That...that demon... _Crawley..._ it was _his_ idea to rescue the children. He’s the one who brought them here. All I did was build the room.” His voice was trembling and he was certain that any moment now Raphael would break free and utterly _obliviate_ the heroic demon snoozing just a few steps down. Aziraphale would _not_ allow that to happen, even if it meant defying his beloved _Qaal_.

Raphael could sense this sentiment coming from his little Azi. Their Bond of shared Grace was fragile, tenuous with fear. It was stretched taut between the two of them like an overtuned piano wire. The Archangel sighed, and the staff dissolved in a shower of fizzing, geen-gold sparks. He gestured back towards the top of the stairs and Aziraphale followed after him.

When the trapdoor was closed, and the concealing crate moved back into its position, Aziraphale _finally_ worked up the courage to meet Raphael’s eyes. What he saw there sent him reeling back in surprise.

Fat tears were rolling down the Archangel’s face. His mouth was pressed into a thin line that cracked upwards at the edges.

“Azi, there… _no words_ . _Thank you,_ ”

He flung his arms around the shorter angel, squeezing him as tight as he dared. Aziraphale could feel the tears dripping onto his shoulder.

“So you’re… _not_ going to tell Gabriel about what Crawley and I did?”

Raphael let out a wet bark of a laugh. “Only if you can forgive me for trying to attack your friend. I don’t _care_ that he’s a demon; not when he’s helped the humans so much,” He pulled away to kiss the top of Aziraphale’s still damp curls. “Azi, I’m so _proud_ of you.”

Aziraphale’s answering sob was a soft, hiccuping one. Raphael gave him another kiss, this time on the forehead. “Do you think you’ll be alright down here all alone? I have to return to Heaven and run interference to keep my siblings from noticing these extra passengers.”

“Yes. I’ll be fine. I have Crawley,” Aziraphale wiped his eyes with the back of a filthy sleeve, smearing dirt across his face. “What about you, though? I don’t want you to get in trouble with Gabriel.”

“Oh Gabriel can take a flying leap from his ego to his IQ,” Raphael scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I should never have let you work for him.”

Aziraphale pretended to be scandalized. Many a day in Heaven had been spent listening to Raphael rant about his uptight twin and _dull_ younger siblings, so it wasn’t anything the smaller angel hadn’t heard before.

Raphael took a step back.. “I’ll come back for a visit once the flood is over. If you need anything, you know how to contact me.”

Aziraphale nodded, a hand pressed over the center of his chest where Raphael’s fragment of Grace thrummed alongside his own.

“See you in 5 months?”

“5 months,”

Raphael saluted, and then he was gone.

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael During the Flood:**


	3. Asmodeus

**Somewhere in North Egypt, 200 BC**

Raphael had been tracking Asmodeus for the better part of a week before he finally cornered the slippery bastard near a desert oasis too small to even warrant being marked on a map. Asmodeus just stood facing the water as Raphael came up from behind, the demon’s long iridescent hair swirling around his head like blood drops in water.

“You should never have left the Second Circle, _worm_ ,” the Archangel growled as he materialized his staff.

Asmodeus rolled his slim shoulders like he was trying to work out a stubborn muscle kink. He didn’t speak, and for a second Raphael thought that maybe the demon hadn’t heard him. Then, “So lovely to see you, Raphael. However, I was informed that I would actually be destroying _two_ angels today. Where’s your companion?”

His voice was soft, musical, but with the faint echoes of a growl that was present whenever he spoke.

Raphael tightened his grip on his weapon. “I regret to inform you that your bosses got their intel wrong. It’s just you and me.”

Asmodeus finally turned to face him. The Archdemon closed his eyes (grey like dirty snow) and let out a soft moan of delight.

“I can _feel_ your lie, Healer,” The Prince of Lust mentally parceled out the lie to reveal the truth beneath it. Every demon was capable of sensing vices, but Archdemons always had the uncanny ability to sniff out their source. “Oh? Well isn’t _that_ interesting? You _and_ your little Azi were supposed to face me. Direct orders from the Metatron, even. But it appears you…” He paused. “...hm! You snuck off without him! Naughty little Archangel.”

“I don’t need assistance to handle you, you _creature_!”

Raphael’s wings flared out behind him. Asmodeus was unimpressed.

“Do you really think you’ll be able to defeat me before I burn your very essence to _ash_?” The demon’s mouth opened slightly and he breathed a small flicker of Hellfire.

Raphael tried not to let the disquiet show on his face.

“Are you ever planning on throwing a punch sometime this millenia?” he taunted.

Asmodeus smiled in a way that (to those who didn’t know him) would be considered _friendly._ He examined Raphael appreciatively.

“I must commend you, Raphael. You did a _fantastic_ job creating Azi-Raphael. He’s very beautiful. I wonder how he would look on his knees with his pretty pink lips wrapped around my-”

Raphael launched himself at Asmodeus with a roar. The Archdemon had been counting on that and released a gout of white-hot Hellfire from between his lips. Raphael just barely managed to bring up his staff in time to block the flames. The fire, however, heated his weapon enough to scald the angel, who dropped it with a shriek of pain. 

Asmodeus pressed his advantage by swiping out with a claw-tipped hand and catching Raphael in the shoulder. The force of it was enough to send the healer soaring through the air to land in a crumpled heap at the base of a sand dune. He tried to push himself up, but slipped in a growing puddle of his own ichor. 

Asmodeus took his time approaching with a confident sashay of his hips.

“I have to say, Doctor, you should have brought Azi-Raphael with you,” The Archdemon fisted his hand in Raphael’s dark hair and _yanked_ until they were eye-level with each other. “I mean, you _still_ would have died, but at least you’d have managed to last more than a minute.”

Raphael ignored the pain in his ruined shoulder and flapped his mighty wings. The wind from their powerful motion whipped up the sand around them into a frenzy, blowing the granules into Asmodeus’s eyes. The demon hissed and relinquished his hold on Raphael to try and rub the irritants away from his face.

Raphael took the opportunity to drive his foot into the demon’s shin. It didn’t break, but it was enough to upend the still blinded demon onto his back. Asmodeus felt a stifling pressure on his chest as Raphael’s knees bracketed his torso to pin him to the ground.

“ _You_ are gonna regret ever making that smart-ass comment earlier,” Raphael grinned.

He pinched his fingers together and drew a line straight down, like he was pulling a miracle from Heaven. A thin, golden cord, a fragment of God’s pure Will, summoned and given form, appeared in his hands and he tugged the ends taut with a satisfying snap.

Asmodeus’s eyes went wide. “A Binding Cord? You wouldn’t _dare_!” he spat.

Raphael just chuckled darkly from somewhere low in his throat.

“I _absolutely_ would,” Faster than Asmodeus could react, Raphael looped the cord around the demon’s neck and _pulled,_ choking off his Hellfire breath. “But then _..._ you just _had_ to open your stupid little mouth.”

Raphael tightened the cord and Asmodeus felt it bite into his skin, the Holiness of it smoldering against his flesh like a cigarette burn. The Archangel stood, tugging Asmodeus after him by his throat as if he were a dog on a leash. The Prince of Lust could barely keep himself upright as Raphael tugged him backwards towards the oasis. Asmodeus realized what his opponent was planning to do just as the Archangel whispered, “ **_Pi_ ** **.** ”[1]

The waters of the oasis shimmered brightly for just a moment and the distinct scent of Holy Water permeated the air. To an angel, Holy Water smelled clean and refreshing. To a demon, it stunk faintly of bleach and the light reflected off it in such a way as to be painful. In desperation, Asmodeus scratched at the Binding Cord to try and tear it off his neck, but it held firm.

As a final, frantic attempt to free himself, the demon unleashed his glossy, red wings. It was enough for Raphael, who hadn’t been expecting it, to let go of the cord and be sent tumbling into the pool of Holy Water with a splash.

Asmodeus staggered to safety, yanking away the cord as he did so and casting it across the sand. Just as Raphael burst out of the water and flew at him, the demon summoned forth a ball of Hellfire and flung it at the Archangel’s chest.

The flames slammed into him hard enough to knock him down, but were thankfully extinguished upon contact with his Holy-Water-soaked body and vaporized in a cloud of blinding steam. Raphael couldn’t see anything, but it mattered little.

The claws buried in his stomach were enough to tell him where Asmodeus was.

Ichor flowed from the wound when Asmodeus ripped his hands away and Raphael could _feel_ where the unholy things had pierced directly into his True Form. He could only sink to his knees as his Grace spilled out to trickle into the sand.

_Oh...that isn’t good…_

Asmodeus’s foot planted itself on his chest.

When had he fallen over?

“I am going to _enjoy_ watching you bleed out, archangel,” the demon grinned. “Nice and slow. It’s a _much_ better show than a quick immolation.”

Raphael was at a crossroads. As the First and _best_ Healer, he could easily mend the damage to his True Form. However, the Grace that he needed to do so was quickly leaking out of him to stain the front of his robes golden, therefore making healing himself an impossibility. If he could just _get to his staff_ it would be enough of a conduit to give him the boost he needed to mend his True Form _and_ Corporation in one.

He tried to squirm away, but Asmodeus just pressed down harder and Raphael’s ribs shifted. The Archangel gurgled in pain.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!”

Asmodeus felt, rather than saw, the incandescent ball of angelic wrath that slammed into him. The two of them tumbled over each other in the sand in a mess of feathers and claws. Raphael lifted his head to see Aziraphale land a series of particularly devastating punches to Asmodeus’s once-perfect face.

“A-Azi…”

While the demon lay flat in the dirt, still reeling from the impromptu thrashing, Aziraphale scrambled to his _Qaal’s_ side. “Oh no! _Raphael!_ Hold still, let me fix this!”

He pressed glowing hands to Raphael’s wound, but they were weakly batted away.

“N-no...too deep…”

Aziraphale stared past Raphael’s Corporation, to the rapidly draining wellspring of Grace within him. The younger angel clapped ichor-stained hands over his mouth in horror.

“No. _No!_ You’ll be alright; let me get your staff and-”

He was stopped by a hand seizing his wrist in a vice-grip. Raphael stared up at him through the haze of pain with a wild, frantic look. When he opened his mouth to object, all that came out was a torrent of ichor and a choked wheeze.

They both knew what would happen if Aziraphale tried to touch his staff.

Archangel weapons refused to acknowledge any other Grace but their Master’s and often retaliated.

Violently.

Any lower-sphere angel risked immediate and permanent destruction should they attempt to wield such a thing.

“ _Please,_ Raphael! Let me try! I can’t lose you like this!” Aziraphale begged.

The Archangel refused to let go, despite his flagging strength, and shook his head. 

_I won’t let you do this, Azi. Not for me._

Desperate tears waterfalled down Aziraphale’s face. He hunched over and buried his face in Raphael’s neck. “ _Qaal..._ I’m so sorry…”

The Archangel released his hold on Aziraphale’s wrist to run a trembling hand through feather-soft curls. If this was to be his last moments, he was glad he could spend them in his child’s arms.

That sweet hope was ripped away from him when Aziraphale made a break for the discarded staff. Raphael could only reach out for him and utter a broken “Aaazzckk” sound.

No! This couldn’t be happening!

He was going to have to watch his little Azi be killed by his own Holy weapon! 

_Please, Mother, don’t let this happen! I’m begging you! Take my divinity, my wings, take_ **_anything_ ** _just don’t take my Azi from me!_

Aziraphale seized the staff.

**_Please!_ **

As soon as he touched the weapon, Aziraphale felt a _tremendous_ surge of energy pulse through his forms. His arms went rigid and he threw back his head with a scream of agony. Electricity hummed across his skin as green-gold sparks flew from his fingertips. His wingtips arched away from his body as if trying to forcibly pull him away from the source of pain. Silver blood trickled from his eyes and ears both.

Raphael watched the entire spectacle with a horrible twisting in his chest. He could feel their shared bond fraying at the edges. Strands of it began snapping away and Raphael was forced to confront the fact that Aziraphale was dying right in front of him.

Suddenly though, the younger angel staggered to his feet in sheer _defiance_ of his fate. Through the storm of sparks and electricity and _pain_ Aziraphale grit his teeth, squared his shoulders, and stumbled with jerky, erratic movements to where Raphael lay, heedless of the damage his True Form and Corporation were sustaining. He lowered the tip of the staff to the Archangel’s weeping stomach wound.

Two things happened at once.

Aziraphale sent a healing pulse of magic straight to Raphael’s core, mending the damage to both of his forms almost instantly.

And Asmodeus leapt onto Aziraphale’s back to sink his fangs into the meat of the angel’s shoulder.

The demon almost immediately regretted doing so, however.

The magic from the staff, once coursing in a closed circuit through Aziraphale’s body, now found the path of least resistance in the form of a bite wound by a foolish Prince of Hell. The Holy power of the staff collided with the Infernal might of Asmodeus’s essence.

The resulting shockwave levelled dunes for a mile in every direction.

It was enough to wrench the staff from Aziraphale’s grasp and send both he and Asmodeus flying. Aziraphale landed on the bank of the oasis, half in and half out of the water; the demon landed a bit further away in a crumpled and slightly singed heap.

Despite every paternal instinct commanding Raphael to go run to Aziraphale’s side, the Archangel wasted no time in summoning the Binding Cord back to his hands. He sprinted to the poleaxed demon and wound the cord tightly around both Asmoedeus’s wrists.

“ **_Allar,_ **”[2]

Asmodeus never regained consciousness. The ground around him opened up into a yawning chasm and he simply dropped into the small cell beneath the Earth Raphael had prepared for this exact purpose.

“Hope you like the cold and the dark you _fucker_ ,” the Archangel spat as the sand closed back around the cell.

Once he was certain that the demon prince wouldn’t be coming back, he warped to where Aziraphale went down.

Aziraphale was twisted onto his side. His wings had been winched in, but his eyes were a dull grey and half-lidded, staring at nothing. The skin of both arms was scorched bright pink all the way up to his shoulders.

“Azi? _No._ Nononono,” Raphael couldn’t even feel the water soaking his robes when he went to his knees beside him. He gathered the younger angel up in his arms. Aziraphale’s body was limp in a way it should _never_ be and his body burned like he was with fever. “C-come on, Azi! Don’t… don’t do this to me. Not to your _Qaal_ , please!”

Raphael clutched him to his chest. He reached out with a tendril of power towards their shared Grace, terrified of what he would find. 

An overwhelming sense of _relief_ crashed into him when he saw that their Bond was still there. It was tenuous, tattered, frayed, _fragile,_ but _still there._ Raphael gripped his Azi tighter and sobbed, “Oh sweet, merciful God _thank you. Thank you!”_

The Archangel adjusted his hold so that Aziraphale could stretch out a bit more comfortably. He passed his hands over the other angel’s form, willing away the damage to it, all the while muttering, “You _stubborn little-_ agh! You can’t just grab things that don’t belong to you! Did I not make you with enough _sense_ ?! You are _so lucky_ that my staff recognized the little piece of my Grace in you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lightened to their usual celestial blue and he blinked sluggishly. 

“Ngwah? Raph...did we-?”

“Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. You’re okay. _We’re_ okay. I’ve got you,”

Raphael’s fingers combed rapidly through his son’s curls.

“‘S it safe to assume we won?” mumbled Aziraphale from where he was smooshed against Raphael’s chest.

“Yeah, we did. It’s over. Asmodeus is gone,”

Aziraphale hummed and let his eyes slide shut again. Raphael sang a low, soft tune in Enochian as they rocked together in the sand.

*~*~*~*~*

1Holy (also Places depending on the context)[return to text]

2Bind[return to text]

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Asmodeus during this chapter:**


	4. Golgotha

**Golgotha, 33AD**

Raphael and Aziraphale said nothing, just held each other.

They lingered long after everybody else left, and the sun disappeared over the western horizon.


	5. Knights and Crepes

**Wessex, 537 AD**

Aziraphale was slumped over a dirty tavern table and tracing circles in the warped wood. He wasn’t drunk, so much as morose, though the flagon of cheap ale he had just consumed was well on its way to getting him there.

Beside him, Raphael slammed down his _third_ mug, not even bothering to wipe away the foam gathered on his upper lip.

“Come on, Azi. I can tell something’s bothering you,” he said.

“Of course you can tell something’s bothering me. You _made_ me,”

Raphael raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Guilty as charged, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I can tell something’s bothering you because you put your head down in a patch of old mead earlier and haven’t bothered to move since.”

Aziraphale jerked up, a tuft of snow-white curls coming away to stick to the dirty tabletop. Raphael just ran his fingertips over the bald patch, regrowing new hair in an instant.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the ‘Black Knight’ would it?” he asked and shook off the tingle of the healing miracle from his fingertips.

Aziraphale groaned and laid his head back down in the exact same spot as before. This time he didn’t care about the sticky patch.

“Am I _that_ obvious? Crowley suggested something _completely outrageous_ and I just _had_ to put my foot down!”

Raphael nodded sagely.

“Did he ask you to sleep with him?”

When Aziraphale jolted upright this time, his hair remained attached to his head. It stood out even more stark white against the scarlet of his face.

“NO, Raphael, for goodness’ sake!” he sputtered. “Crowley suggested something he called ‘The Arrangement’.”

“That sounds like a sex thing to me,”

“RAPHAEL!”

The Archangel’s wheezing laughter was enough for Aziraphale to continue. “He wants us to start falsifying our reports to our respective Head Offices and even performing good deeds and temptations for the other as the situation calls for it.”

“What’s wrong with that? It sounds like a reasonable enough idea to me,” Raphael said with his customary shrug.

“But...well...I don’t really feel _comfortable_ tempting humans to sin and damnation,” Aziraphale replied.

Raphael saw the downturn of his son’s face and started rubbing soothing circles over Aziraphale’s back.

“Azi, this is how _I_ see it: if the humans are weak enough to give into temptation in the first place, then they wouldn’t have gotten into Heaven anyways,”[1]

The Principality sat up a little straighter. His eyes were still far away, but now there was a new, determined set to his brow.

*~*~*~*~*

**Paris, 1793**

“I’m telling you, angel, we should just leave this whole bloody _continent_ behind!” Crowley groused as he nursed a snifter of brandy. “Inquisitions, plagues, _guillotines_ ! I’m telling you, this place is _cursed_!”

Aziraphale just nodded along and sliced into his crepe. While Crowley continued his spirited tirade over new places to live (“I hear Mexico’s nice this time of year,”), a familiar flickering presence was detected on the edge of the angel’s consciousness, like the light of a candle out of the corner of one’s eye.

Aziraphale went rigid and Crowley stared at him with unmasked concern.

“You alright there, angel?”

“Oh. Yes. Absolutely! I just…”

Aziraphale was faced with several options. While Raphael knew about Crowley’s friendship with his son, _Crowley_ didn’t know that Raphael knew. Frankly, Aziraphale wasn’t certain that Crowley wouldn’t attack the Archangel first as a pre-emptive form of self-defense. He fumbled for an excuse to slip away for a moment.

“...I’ve got diarrhea!”

Crowley made a startled noise that sounded like “ngk”, but Aziraphale was already up from his chair and out the door of the small Parisian bistro the demon had taken him to after a timely rescue from the Bastille.

Aziraphale barely made it out of sight of the doorway before he found himself being swept up into a hug.

“Azi!! Oh, thank Mother you’re alright!”

Aziraphale’s face was smushed into Raphael’s broad chest as the healer whispered soothing nonsense in his ear. “Ssh, ssh, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Aziraphale allowed Raphael to indulge in his paternal instincts before extricating himself from the suffocating grasp.

“What’s gotten _into_ you, Raphael?”

“I felt your distress all the way in Heaven, Azi. You were _scared_ ,”

“I wasn’t ‘scared’,” Aziraphale protested. “I was uncomfortable and worried at the thought of having to fill out Re-Corporation forms in triplicate!”

Something _dangerous_ flashed in Raphael’s eyes. They had gone from the playful green of new buds in spring to the darker shade of an alligator’s scales...a _predator’s_ color.

“Was someone _threatening to discorporate you?_ ” he snarled.

Sometimes it was easy to forget Raphael’s spheres of influence. For all that he was the Archangel of healing, happy marriages, and youth, he had a darker range of talents. After all, what was medicine but poison administered in smaller doses? In the reflection of his eyes, Aziraphale remembered Raphael’s _other_ skills: nightmares, blindness, _madness_!

He thought back to an old assignment the two of them had been given thousands of years ago near the plains of the river Jordan. Raphael and Aziraphale had been tasked with speaking to a man named Lot and aiding him in finding righteous humans residing in the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. 

Things had gone... _wrong_.

Aziraphale still remembered the grasping, groping hands that tore at his robes. He hadn’t even been able to parcel his thoughts into enough working order to defend himself. His entire world had narrowed down to jeering faces that pinned him down to the dirt.

Raphael’s enraged scream had been unlike anything Aziraphale heard before or since. The men that had previously been attacking him now writhed on the ground. They had raked their nails down their own faces, popping their eyeballs and leaving red gouges in their wake.

After sequestering Aziraphale safely outside the city, Raphael watched in grim satisfaction as his younger brother Sandalphon rained down destruction.

Raphael was the pillar of stone to Lot’s wife’s pillar of salt.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Smiling.

That same look was what greeted Aziraphale in the present. It was the look of an Archangel who would make a human’s brain boil inside their own skull with fever if it meant keeping his family safe.

Aziraphale didn’t like seeing that look.

“I’m _fine,_ Raphael. Crowley’s timely rescue made sure of that,”

Raphael blinked and the darkness disappeared just as quick as it had come. The Archangel peered over the top of Aziraphale’s head as if he were trying to pick Crowley out in the crowd.

“In that case, I _must_ thank the boy properly. Is he here? I sense a demonic presence fairly close-”

Raphael went to move in the direction of the bistro but Aziraphale held him back.

“I...I _really_ don’t think that’s a wise idea, Raphael,”

“Why? I think it’s high time you’ve introduced me!”

“It is! I just…”

Aziraphale’s teeth worried the corner of his bottom lip. Raphael felt a little bit of himself deflate.

“Oh...I see…” the healer mumbled and took a step backwards. “You’re probably embarrassed by me, huh? I get it, I get it. You don’t want dear old dad making you look silly, huh? Can’t say I blame you, really.”

Not for the first time, Aziraphale was struck by how multifaceted Raphael was. Sometimes Aziraphale struggled to reconcile the avenging Archangel ready to inflict madness and pain with the loving, carefree, and now _deeply hurt_ parent before him.

“No, _Qaal_ . I’m not embarrassed,” he reassured. “I’m just thinking about Crowley’s peace of mind is all. Think about it, what if _you_ were a low-level demon and the second-highest of Heaven’s Host suddenly plonked down at the table to introduce himself? You’d be rather frightened, wouldn’t you?”

Raphael had to concede the point. The demon surely knew _of_ him (Raphael was still rather proud of how they had handled the “Asmodeus problem”), but that whole incident would most likely just cement himself in Crowley’s mind as a dangerous foe. He blew a puff of air between his lips, making a “flblblblb” noise universal to those who found something to be overrated.

“Alright, you win, Azi. I won’t go say ‘hi’. I won’t ask you to tell him ‘thank you’ for me either, ‘cause I get the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t appreciate it coming from an Archangel,”

The two of them parted with one final hug. Raphael returned to Heaven and Aziraphale re-entered the bistro to find Crowley still waiting for him.

“Feeling better, angel?” the demon asked with an upticked eyebrow.

“Very much so, my dear,” 

*~*~*~*~*

11Raphael was, unfortunately, possessed of a _very_ poor brain-to-mouth filter that frequently made him seem more callous than he truly was. In this instance, what he _meant_ to say was, "Azi, if a human is easily tempted to murder their neighbor, cheat on their spouse, or steal from the poor, they were already rotten to begin with."[return to text]

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**The executioners at the Bastille after Aziraphale escaped:**


	6. Recall to Heaven

**Heaven, 1800**

“ _RAPHAEL!!”_

The Archangel was startled out of his work by Aziraphale’s _furious_ cry. The little glass tube he had been holding slipped from his fingers to shatter on Heaven’s pristine floors.

_Damn, that’ll set back antibiotic discovery at least another 100 years,_ he thought morosely.

All of that was secondary, however, compared to the absolutely _fuming_ Principality standing behind him. Raphael took a fortifying breath (he knew what this angry visit was about) and turned to greet his son.

“Azi! How are you holding up?”

“‘How are you holding up’, you know very well how I’m holding up!” Aziraphale ripped off the medal hanging from his shoulders to thrust it in Raphael’s face. “How _dare you_ put a petition in to have me promoted back to Heaven! And sending _Gabriel and Sandalphon_ of all angels to bring me back; have you lost all sense of yourself?!”

Raphael steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth and took another unnecessary (but calming) breath.

“Azi, listen, I _know_ you love the Earth, and your friend, and your shop. It’s just that...well...isn’t it a little _dangerous_ down there for you?”

Aziraphale froze, mouth slightly open in shock. Raphael took the opportunity to continue talking. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re _capable_ of defending yourself, but humans are so _cruel._ After that little incident in the Bastille a few years ago, I got to thinking that maaaaybe it would be better if you were in Heaven where I could better keep an eye on you. _Protect you_.”

“But...but...discorporation’s never _permanent_ ,” fumbled Aziraphale.

“It’s not discorporation I’m worried about,” Raphael sighed.

The Archangel ran his hands over the grainy wood of his work station. In truth, it wasn’t _one_ thing he was worried about so much as _many_ things. Raphael had witnessed _millions_ of humans die slow, agonizing deaths from gruesome injuries. While Aziraphale had yet to be discorporated in such a manner, the fear of him going through it alone and in _pain_ terrified the Archangel to no end.

And that was just physical pain. What about emotional and psychological? What if Aziraphale got attached to a human and that mortal died before their time? Would he ever recover? What if something happened to Crowley? Would Aziraphale blame himself?

To Raphael, humans were incredible, clever, and capable of feats of love great enough to rival Heaven itself. They were also ignorant, cruel, and spiteful with sadistic tendencies that could send some of the greener demons running for a puke bucket.

Raphael’s thoughts flew faster.

He remembered how difficult it had been to bind Asmodeus. The demon prince could, theoretically, break free from his cage one day. If he did, would he torture Aziraphale as a way to get back at Raphael? The thought of his little Azi, broken in body, mind, and spirit, dead in all but name, almost sent the Archangel into paroxysms of hysterical weeping.

What if something like Sodom and Gomorrah happened again, and Raphael wasn’t there to defend Aziraphale? He pictured filthy, grabbing hands and devouring eyes…

...and was possessed by a _very_ unangelic desire to break their bones and set them in improper angles so they healed wrong _._

Aziraphale’s soft, comforting arms came to rest around Raphael’s shoulders and pull him close. He whispered “ _Qaal”_ , and the Archangel felt some of the fight leak out of him like a freshly lanced pustule: all the ugliness gone to make way for healing.

It wasn’t often that Aziraphale referred to Raphael as anything other than his name (and the occasional “you absolute _boor!”_ ) but when he did, it was always, _always_ welcome. Raphael let himself be held.

“ _Please,”_ Aziraphale whispered. “Don’t do this.”

Images flew unbidden across Raphael’s vision.

_Crushing, suffocating darkness that walled Aziraphale in from all sides as his screams were swallowed up by it..._

_Aziraphale choking on his own vomit after accidentally consuming something poisonous..._

_Asmodeus slipping free from his bindings to make good on his threats..._

_Aziraphale struggling to break the surface of tumultuous waters that dragged him down and filled his lungs..._

_Aziraphale run through by an infernal blade..._

_A human pinning Aziraphale down by his wrists as he struggled and fought and_ begged _them not to do this..._

_Aziraphale’s severed head rolling from his shoulders..._

Raphael jerked away with a gasp. Aziraphale reached out to touch him again, but Raphael just squared his shoulders. His expression was cold, impassive…

...an _Archangel’s._

Aziraphale already knew what the other was going to say before the words were ever spoken. He could feel them through their shared Bond. Raphael folded his arms behind his back.

“Principality Azi-Raphael, you are hereby summoned back to Heaven. That is an _order_ ,”

Aziraphale let his arms drop to his side. His face remained carefully neutral.

“An order from my _Qaal_?”

“No. From the Archangel Raphael; your _superior_ ,”

In that moment, Raphael _swore_ he could hear the distant echo of thunder to match the storm-grey in his child’s eyes. Aziraphale, no, Azi-Raphael closed those haunted eyes for only a second, before opening them again. They were blank; empty of all traces of warmth. Gone was Azi, Raphael’s _Pash_ : Lover of Good Food and Books. In his place was Azi-Raphael, the _Principality_ : Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden and Wielder of the Flaming Sword.

Raphael came to the unpleasant realization that he had just made a _terrible_ mistake.

“Well then, Archangel Raphael…” When Azi-Raphael said his name, in that flat voice, with his back rigid like just another mindless drone, the Archangel in question felt a distinct frisson up the back of his spine. It was _wrong_ ! Where was the laughter? Where was the _light_ that Raphael had spent _so long_ nurturing?

With a sickening twist of his gut, Raphael acknowledged that _he_ had been the one to snuff out that light. _Not once_ had he _ever_ pulled rank on his Azi like that. Never _once_ had he wanted to make his little one feel like a lesser being than him.

“...I’m afraid I shall have to inform you that your request to have me transferred to Heaven was met with rejection. The Archangel Gabriel felt that it was better for me to remain on Earth in order to properly thwart the wiles of our adversaries. I simply felt it would be better if I stopped by to inform you of your colleague’s choice in person. Am I dismissed then, Archangel Raphael, _sir?_ ”

That last word was spat with such _vitriol._ Raphael could see Aziraphale’s indifferent mask slip just a little to reveal the bubbling _resentment_ underneath. 

The Archangel _had_ to fix this. He _had_ to make it right!

“Azi...please. I’m sorry- I just-”

“ _Am I dismissed, Archangel Raphael, sir?”_

Raphael reared back as if he had been struck. The first of what would be many, _many_ tears rolled down his face. “Azi...you’re- wha? _Dismissed?”_

That was good enough for the lowly Principality Azi-Raphael. He performed a sharp about-turn on his heel and made for the stairs back to Earth. If he heard Raphael begging for him to come back, he didn’t say a word.

They wouldn’t speak again for 63 years.

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael after realizing his mistake:**

****


	7. Making Up

**London, 1863**

Raphael had tried.

_God,_ had he tried.

Every time he found himself on Earth, he would inevitably seek out Aziraphale. And every time, the younger angel would either teleport away or ward his bookshop against nosy, healing Archangels.

Raphael had tried sending letters, apology gifts, and (on one memorable occasion) a trained carrier pigeon.

All attempts to get back in touch with Aziraphale so he could apologize were met with resounding failure.

The letters were never opened, the gifts were returned, and the pigeon had been kept as a beloved pet until it passed away of old age in 1823 after fifteen long years of affectionate pats and treats.

Raphael hadn’t been invited to the funeral Crowley and Aziraphale had given it.

In 1850, Raphael was forced to concede defeat. Standing across the street from A.Z. Fell & Co. he bid one final goodbye. He pressed a kiss to the tips of two fingers, extended them outwards towards the shop in the hopes that Aziraphale would _somehow_ be able to feel it, and returned to Heaven with one last lingering look back.

Upon return, Raphael attempted to throw himself into his work. Humans were already making great strides in the field of medicine without his subtle guidance, but maybe he could introduce them to Germ Theory and see where it went from there…

For 13 years straight he labored away. Outside of the few direct orders from the Metatron to do so, Raphael never returned to Earth. He felt that, if Aziraphale wanted to seek him out, he would do so on his own time; under his own terms.

He couldn’t stay mad at Raphael forever, right?

Right?

Please?

In 1863, 63 long years after their fight, Raphael felt something pulling at his Grace. It was a shy, tentative tug that felt _gloriously_ familiar.

He was flying down to Earth probably faster than he had ever flown before.

When he alighted on the planet’s surface and followed the pull, he found himself standing in front of a flat in Mayfair. The entire building reeked of demonic presence and Raphael was instantly on alert. He willed the front door open with half a thought, and crossed the threshold into what he assumed to be a demon’s lair.

By all accounts, he was absolutely correct. 

Raphael found Aziraphale in a bedroom near the back of the building. He was seated in an old chair beside a luxurious four-poster bed. Aziraphale didn’t even look up as Raphael entered the room.

“Azi… I…”

Words failed him. There were a million different things he wanted to say; questions he wanted to ask.

_Are you alright?_

_I’m so sorry for what I did._

_Can you ever forgive me?_

_I missed you so much. More than I ever thought I could miss anything._

Instead, all he could scrape together was a ragged, “I felt your summons.”

Those four words seemed to spur Aziraphale into action. He blinked once and then said in a voice that spoke of months of pain and exhaustion, “You were right, Raphael.”

“Pardon?”

The Archangel had obviously lost the thread of conversation _._ Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the bed and stared up at his _Qaal_ with a tear-filled expression. 

“I said… ‘you were _right_ , Raphael’. This world is _too_ painful,” His expression could only be described as _resigned._ He looked back to the bed. “So if it’s all the same to you, Archangel Raphael, sir… I would like to request an immediate and permanent transfer to Heaven.”

Raphael felt his world shudder and tilt beneath his feet. 

“Azi… _no_ ,” he gasped. 

“Well why not?!” Aziraphale snapped, tears burning salt-tracks down the sides of his face. “You wanted me back so badly? Well now’s your chance!”

Raphael’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears of his own. “Azi, _please!_ This world, this _planet_ it- it _needs_ you.” His words spilled out of him; every desperate apology, every frantic plea fled from his mind in favor of simply saying _something_ to keep Aziraphale from leaving Earth. “This whole place, these _humans_ … there’s- I- I don’t have _words_ , Azi! _Yes_ it hurts. _Yes_ terrible things happen. _Yes_ it all seems like too much too often, but there’s _so much more._ There’s- there’s _ducks!_ And food! By Mother, the food _alone_ is worth staying! There’s music and springtime and babies and- and-” Raphael’s throat bobbed as he gathered his thoughts. “...and I’m _sorry_ , Azi. I should never have tried to force you away from your home. Because that’s what Earth _is._ It’s your home; more than Heaven ever was. More than... _I_ ever was.”

Raphael choked on the last sentence. He bit down on his lip almost hard enough to draw blood in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from weeping. 

“Oh _Qaal_ , _no!”_

Aziraphale was up out of his chair so fast that it clattered onto the floor. He practically crushed the Archangel in a desperate embrace. “Don’t _ever_ say that! You were my home long before Earth even _existed_ . I _love you_ , which is why I was so _hurt_ when you tried to force me back. Seeing you acting like, well, _Gabriel_ instead of _Raphael_ was heartbreaking.”

“I’m _so sorry,_ Azi! I was so scared of you getting hurt while down here that I didn’t stop to think that I could hurt you too,” The Archangel was now openly sobbing as he clawed at the back of Aziraphale’s waistcoat.

“It’s alright, _Qaal._ I forgive you. I’m sorry for not letting you apologize all these years. Can you forgive me?”

“There’s _nothing_ to forgive, Azi. I deserved it for being such a… a _Gabriel!”_

Aziraphale’s answering laugh was a loud, free sounding thing. Raphael had thought he would never hear it again. He let his eyes close and just savored the joy of their reunion. After a moment he opened them again and, for the first time since entering the flat, caught sight of the figure in the bed.

“Azi, is that… Crowley?”

The demon in question appeared to be deep in sleep, clutching his pillow like it was a lifeline. His auburn hair was a riot of tangles down past his ears. Aziraphale visibly slumped as he came to stand beside the bed.

“He’s the reason I summoned you and told you I wanted to go back to Heaven,” he mumbled, wringing his hands. “We… we had a fight last year. We both ended up saying some things that were hurtful and, well… I think he’s sleeping to avoid me. It’s been a whole year though and he _still_ hasn’t woken up. I fear that he may be well and truly done with me now.”

Raphael sat down on the mattress next to Crowley’s head. He passed his hand over the demon’s face and said, “He’s not injured or ill or anything like that. It almost feels like he doesn’t _want_ to wake up.”

“I was afraid of that,” sighed Aziraphale.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Aziraphale recounted what he had since dubbed “The Holy Water Incident”. When he mentioned Crowley wanting _Holy Water_ of all things, Raphael slipped an arm around his shoulder to rub at his arm in a comforting gesture.

“I think you did the right thing in not giving it to him. That stuff is _way_ too dangerous,” he said.

“Thank you, but I don’t think that’s why he’s avoiding me. I...I called our friendship ‘fraternization’ and told him I didn’t need him! In my defense, he said it first and I was just- ACK!”

Aziraphale yelped as Raphael twisted his ear lobe with a frown.

“ _Please_ tell me you didn’t _actually_ say those things,” the Archangel scolded.

The way the younger angel failed to meet his eyes was all the answer he needed. Raphael groaned and crossed his arms. “I don’t blame Crowley for feeling so hurt. I would be too. Still, your demon _is_ being pretty overdramatic.” The Archangel lifted a bit of red hair away from the demon’s ear and _screeched_ directly into it.

Crowley just rolled over, still asleep.

Raphael shrugged in an “I’ve got nothing” gesture and Aziraphale’s face fell further.

“Then I suppose this is it then. For him and I, at least. He’s truly done with me,”

The Principality’s lower lip wobbled.

“I don’t think he is. I truly don’t,” Raphael said, reaching across the sleeping demon to thumb away a tear Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed escaping. 

“What would you have me do, then?”

“Stay on Earth. Keep doing your job. Crowley will come around eventually, I’m _sure_ of it,”

Raphael rose from the bed and Aziraphale did the same. 

“What about _his_ work? I don’t know how long he’ll be asleep, and I don’t want Hell to punish him for dereliction of duty,” the younger angel fretted.

“Does The Arrangement still stand? You can do his job too until he wakes up. I’ll cover for you so the other Archangels don’t notice anything amiss,”

Aziraphale just continued wringing his hands. “But… but what about Crowley? If I do _both_ the tempting _and_ the blessing, I won’t have any spare time to watch over him. What if someone breaks into his home? Or other angels come across him? Or there’s a fire or-”

“Azi, calm down!” Raphael’s command was slightly harsh, but tempered with gentle hands on the younger angel’s shoulders. “I won’t let _anything_ happen to your friend. I’ll watch over him myself.”

“Oh but… isn’t that dangerous? What if you get in trouble? Or he wakes up, sees you looming over him and tries to attack?” Aziraphale worried, seemingly dead-set on having something to fuss over.

Raphael just rolled his eyes good-naturedly with a confident smile.

“Everything will be _fine_ , Azi. Who’s going to get me in trouble? _Gabriel?_ That ol’ stuff-shirt still thinks I spent the whole Flood going fishing. And the _instant_ Crowley starts waking up, I’ll teleport away. He’ll never even know I was here, apart from giving him a good dusting every now and again,” he said.

Aziraphale threw himself into a fierce hug with his _Qaal_ , whispering frantic thanks and desperate pleas to remain safe.

“I love you, _Qaal._ _Thank you_ ,” he mumbled into a shoulder.

Raphael hugged him back. “Anything for you, Azi.”

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael trying to wake up Crowley:**


	8. The Blitz

**London, 1941**

Aziraphale stood on the stoop of his bookshop, clutching a bag of books to his chest like it was the most precious thing in existence to him.

Well…

...second most precious.

Raphael and Crowley were tied for first. The latter of which had just escorted Aziraphale back to A.Z. Fell & Co after a heroic rescue and a “little demonic miracle” and was now sending the angel’s thoughts into a maelstrom of terrified realization.

_He saved my books. Dear God in Heaven, I love him. I love him._

Crowley ran his hand across the painted wood of the building’s threshold. “Glad to see the ol’ shop’s still standing.”

His words brought Aziraphale back to the present, who replied with a stumbling, “Oh, yes. I’m quite lucky that the bombs haven’t touched it.” 

“Why am I not surprised that you spared a miracle to keep it safe?” Crowley teased, a fond smirk showing just a hint of fang.

Aziraphale was more than happy to let the demon keep believing that it was his own miracle that preserved the building, rather than one cast by the Archangel currently sleeping in the flat above the shop.

“Yes, well, you know me! I get attached quite easily,” he laughed, half-awkward and half-genuine.

Crowley just made a vague noise of assent, then took a step forward, almost caging Aziraphale in against the front door. 

“Listen, angel, I… I wanted to apologize for the whole, you know, ‘sleeping for 60 years and not talking to you’ thing,” he mumbled, pulling off his glasses to show the angel how genuine he was in his repentance.

Aziraphale’s eyes roamed the planes of his friend’s face. Crowley’s eyes had gone fully serpentine (no doubt from the embarrassment such an apology elicited) and his brow crinkled upwards in the middle towards his hairline; a subtle expression begging for forgiveness. 

Between the silence following Crowley’s apology and the whirring of the bombers overhead, Aziraphale found his voice. “It’s quite alright, my dear. I… I’m sorry too. I called our friendship ‘fraternizing’ when it was anything but, and I said I didn’t need you either. If tonight has proven _anything,_ it’s that I was wrong. You _are_ my friend, Crowley. And I _do_ need you. Not to rescue me, but as a companion and an equal. I still can’t give you the Holy Water you wanted, but I can do my utmost to ensure that you never feel the need to lock yourself away again.”

If it was at all possible, Crowley’s eyes seemed to go even wider. He seemed to be leaning forward slightly and for a brief second Aziraphale thought that he was about to be kissed. The idea excited and horrified him in equal measure. 

Mostly he was worried that, if Crowley _did_ kiss him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from kissing _back_. 

Crowley blinked rapidly as if coming out of a trance, then the far-off look on his face shuttered back into his default expression of mischief sprinkled with witty teasing.

“You know, when I woke up I noticed the _strangest_ thing…” he said, slipping his shades back on. “I noticed that I _wasn’t_ covered in a fine layer of dust upon waking, that _all_ of my paperwork back to Head Office had been filed on time, _and_ I even received a few commendations for ‘Outstanding Performance in the Field of Temptation’. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about _that_ , would you, angel?”

Just like that, it was as if 60 years of separation had never existed. It was all too easy for Aziraphale to slip back into their usual brand of teasing banter, like sliding into a warm bath on a cold day.

“I have _no_ idea what you’re talking about, my dear,” he huffed, voice lilting in fake pompousness.

“Ha!”

Aziraphale was just about to invite the demon inside his shop, perhaps to share a drink and catch him up on what he’d been doing since 1862, but the demon was already making to leave.

“Well, I should be off. Once this whole ‘Blitz debacle’ is over, I can take you to lunch,” Crowley said, doffing his hat.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” the angel replied. “Mind how you go.”

Just as Crowley went to grab the handle of the Bentley’s driver-side door, Aziraphale was suddenly seized with a surge of impetuousness. He dropped the back of books, crossed the scant space between him and the curb in two quick strides, and gripped the demon by his arm.

“Angel, what’s-”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek.

It was brief, barely more than a friendly peck, but it was enough to send Crowley staggering against the hood of the Bentley like the kiss had been a physical blow. His glasses hung crookedly off his nose, exposing his golden eyes with pupils narrowed to slits. He wasn’t even bothering to conceal the naked _awe_ on his face.

“Thankyouforthebooks,” spilled out of Aziraphale’s mouth like so much word-vomit and then he was grabbing his bag and scuttling back into the relative safety of his shop before Crowley could so much as reorient himself.

Once safely inside his home, Aziraphale slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the window panes. He leaned against the door for one beat. Two beats. At the sound of the Bentley’s engine revving and then disappearing into the night, Aziraphale allowed himself to slump over in relief.

“Azi? Wha’s goin’ on?” came the sleepy mumble as Raphael descended the stairs from the second story flat, still wrapped up in a tick, tartan comforter.

“I-it’s nothing, Raphael,” Aziraphale stammered. “Go back to sleep now. You need your rest after all those big healing miracles.”

“Nah, m’alright,” Raphael yawned, jaw popping. “I can tell you have something on y’r mind.”

Aziraphale glanced down at the bag of books held in his white-knuckled grip. “It’s just that I… I… oh _dash it all_ I think I’m in love with Crowley!”

He watched Raphael’s face, expecting to find outrage or disgust. Instead, Raphael just yawned a second time.

“Yeah. And?”

Aziraphale’s current expression was almost a perfect reflection of Crowley’s just a moment ago: stunned confusion and delighted awe.

“P-pardon me? You…” A new thought occurred to him. “You _knew_?!”

“Azi, I’ve known since 1793 _at least._ I could sense a _very specific_ and _very powerful_ love coming off of you and it was directed _solely_ at one particular red-headed demon,” Raphael explained, twirling a finger through the air as if he were stirring through a visible cloud of love.

“I… I see. I suppose you have a point. Though, before tonight, I hadn’t even _realized_ that I was in love with him. It just sort of… crept up on me,” Aziraphale mumbled.

“Yeah. Love’ll do that,” Raphael said, with a pointed glance at his little Azi. “Speaking of ‘creeping up’, how’d your meeting with those Nazi fucks go?”

“Well, turns out Rose was a German spy. Things went a little ‘off the rails’ after that, but luckily Crowley was able to intervene in time,”

It spoke to just how _exhausted_ Raphael was that he didn’t immediately check Aziraphale over for injuries and then go on a one-Archangel crusade against the entire Third Reich for trying to hurt him. As it stood, Raphael just swayed on the spot, eyes blinking out of sync. Aziraphale gently began leading him back upstairs.

“Come along now. You’ve been working so hard to heal the humans injured in this war. You _need_ to go get some more rest before you discorporate,” he softly chided.

Raphael grumbled and pulled the comforter tighter around his shoulders, but didn’t object.

“So when can I expect engagement announcements? Wedding invitations? What about a baby shower?”

“ _RAPHAEL!!”_

The Archangel’s cackling could be heard from the street.

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael to the Nazis during the Blitz:**


	9. Armageddon

**Heaven, 2008**

Raphael had _just_ finished putting the final tweaks on his plan to eradicate the Guinea Worm (“Really, Mother? A worm that burrows its way out from eggs laid under the skin?!”), when his razor-thin phone lit up with Aziraphale’s ringtone.

_No fair._

_You really know how to make me cry when you give me those ocean eyes._

_I’m scared._

_I’ve never fallen from quite this high-_

Raphael swiped his thumb across the surface. “Azi!” he exclaimed in delight. “To what do I owe this delightful call?”

There was no immediate reply beyond the sounds of frantic hyperventilation. Raphael was immediately concerned.

“Azi? What’s going on? Are you hurt? Talk to me!”

“ _Qaal!”_ Aziraphale gasped out. “T-the Antichrist! He’s been delivered! It’s- it’s-”

“Woah, woah, woah, Azi, slow down! What are you talking about?”

He could hear Aziraphale taking a few breaths to calm himself before he launched into his explanation.

“Crowley delivered the Antichrist sometime last night. _It’s Armageddon, Qaal_ ,”

The Archangel’s hand clenched around his phone tight enough to warp and crack the screen. Since he expected it to still work, however, it did.

“What do you mean ‘Armageddon’? I haven’t heard anything about-” Raphael’s words sputtered out as he was hurled face-first into an epiphany. “ _Those BASTARDS!_ The other Archangels they… they didn’t _tell_ me!”

“What are we going to do, _Qaal_ ? Crowley came up with the idea to influence the boy to be ‘normal’ enough to not want to start the War, but what if it’s not enough? I can’t see the Earth destroyed, I just _can’t_!”

“You won’t _have to_ , Azi,” Raphael tried to impart a bit of Will behind his statement. “I’ll… I’ll see what I can do up here. Maybe I can convince my siblings that this _isn’t_ what Mother truly wants. I mean, _why_ create these wonderful, complex humans only to wipe them out in fire and flames? What’s the _logic_ there?!”

He could hear Aziraphale sniffle and give a watery laugh. “Crowley said something similar.”

“Smart kid. Listen, Azi, I’m going to get started. You do your thing on Earth and keep me posted on what happens. I love you,”

“I love you too, Raphael. _Please_ be safe,”

“I promise. You do the same,”

Raphael ended the call and began to strategize.

*~*~*~*~*

**An Unknown Holding Cell in Heaven, 2019 (Less than 24 hours until the end of the world)**

_How had it all gone so wrong?_

This sentence consumed much of Raphael’s thoughts as he languished in one of Heaven’s (admittedly luxurious) prison cells. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the cell were a bright white, with only one small, yet impenetrable, window looking out over Heaven. Raphael’s miracles still worked within its confines, so he wasn’t without his Earthly comforts like a bed and his precious television (he’d tried summoning his favorite snacks, but they were always flavored with the lye-like taste of conjured food, so he abandoned the idea of eating entirely), but they were stunted enough to the point that forcing his way out would be impossible.

The isolation would have driven him mad a decade ago, but his siblings stopped by often enough to keep him updated on the progress of Armageddon that he was _genuinely_ starting to wish for solitary confinement. When they weren’t telling him the latest batch of world-ending gossip (“Oh, the Antichrist just had his third birthday!”, “Pollution’s finally been summoned!”, or “Have you _seen_ that Hellhound? Vicious!”) the other Archangels were _desperately_ trying to convince him to abandon his stance on why Armaggeddon was a bad thing.

Uriel had tried appealing to his emotional side.

“Raphael, _please_ , we need our best Healer! Are you really going to cling to this foolish idea of pacifism and stay here the entire War and let your fellow angels be _destroyed?”_

Raphael had simply bit back with a, “They wouldn’t _need_ my help if Heaven and Hell hadn’t started this whole mess!”

Gabriel had tried using threats.

“Brother, you _can’t_ keep this up forever. Mother will surely make you Fall for trying to go against the Great Plan,” he’d stressed.

“If She hasn’t done so yet for loving Azi more than I _ever_ loved Her, then she isn’t ever _going_ to make me Fall!”

_That_ had stunned Gabriel and the others into silence for a time.

Michael had tried a healthy dose of logic.

“Armageddon _is_ inevitable, Raphael. Even if we let you out now, you’d never be able to halt it,” she had said in a vague approximation of a soothing tone, but just came across as pure condescension.

“I will _never_ stop trying!” Raphael had snarled.

And Sandalphon, always eager for a good smiting, had tried _brute force._

“Raphael, if you don’t abandon this _stupid_ idea about stopping Armageddon, then I will come in there _personally_ and _make you_!”

In his cell, Raphael was unable to summon his staff, but the look he levelled at his younger brother made having it superfluous. In a voice cold, even, and flat as beaten steel he said, “Do you think you’d even be able to get close enough before I rip your wings from your back?”

His eyes had darkened to a blackish sea-green; the color of the tumultuous ocean in a storm.

Sandalphon had needed some time in private to stop his hands from shaking.

Eventually though, on the day of the Final Battle, Gabriel had pulled the other Archangels away with an explanation that the battle would be commencing shortly, so there was really no point in trying to keep convincing Raphael of the righteousness of their cause anymore. Once Heaven’s victory was assured, they’d release him. After all, there’d be nothing anything Raphael could do to stop it anymore, and it’d be a waste of a perfectly good Healer and Archangel if they just kept him locked up.

Raphael had assumed as much, and spent the entire Final Day sending up frantic prayers to Her that Aziraphale and Crowley would be able to stop the machinations of Heaven and Hell.

He was so distracted with his entreaties, that he _almost_ didn’t notice the sundering of his and Aziraphale’s Bond after the younger angel accidentally stumbled into an active summoning circle down on Earth.

Raphael’s breathless, continuous prayers stumbled as he felt what could only be described as a _severing_ from somewhere _deep_ within his True Form. The Archangel went down on his hands and knees in sudden, exquisite agony. The pain was mercifully short, but left behind a hollowness that Raphael hadn’t felt since the days before he created Aziraphale. For a brief, terrifying second, he was convinced that maybe Gabriel was right and he _had_ Fallen.

A quick peek into his True Form revealed that he was still an angel, but the strand that had for so long connected his own essence to Aziraphale’s was… incomplete.

Raphael’s end of the Bond was still intact, pulsing with golden, angelic light, but when his eyes followed the length of it to where it should begin to entwine with the glittery silver of Aziraphale’s essence, it just cut off. It wasn’t _torn_ , but it looked like it was swallowed by an endless void of inky blackness; like a road disappearing into a darkened tunnel with no sign of light at the other end.

Raphael wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at. He placed his hands on his half of the Bond and Called into the void. The language he used was neither any known human language, nor was it Enochian. It was a deeper, older one that surpassed even the creation of Heaven itself and was used to communicate between True Forms, as human corporations are so limited in their powers of speech.

To an outsider, it sounded like 10,000 high-pitched shrieks belonging to a powerful bird-of-prey. To those who understood his cry, it was a call of worry and a desire to hear a response.

**_CALL. ANSWER? SAFE?_ **

His Call, instead of receiving a reply or bouncing back against a familiar presence, was simply engulfed by the all-consuming darkness beyond the Bond. Raphael, well and truly worried now, inched his way down the Bond. When he reached the part where Aziraphale _should_ have been, he saw that it simply tapered off like a wisp of fog. 

There was nothing there.

_Nobody_ there.

_No Aziraphale._

Raphael jerked back into his human corporation with a ragged gasp.

_No._

_No!_

_It can’t be! My little Azi can’t be-_

The Archangel, tipped his head back and tried his Call again.

**_CALL! FEAR! PAIN! ANSWER? ANSWER! ANSWER!!_ **

His Call was met with only silence and the ringing in his own ears. 

“Azi... _please_ ...I- I can’t- I can’t _feel_ you!” Raphael sobbed. 

He dropped into a crouch and gripped his hair in tight fistfuls. His chest heaved like a bellows as he gasped for breaths that he didn’t actually need. 

Squatting on the floor of a prison cell and fighting to hold on to the last little scraps of his sanity, Raphael was forced to confront the horrifying reality of his situation.

His little Azi’s plan had been found out, and either Heaven or Hell had destroyed him. If it was Hell that was responsible, Raphael was prepared to bless every single fluid or liquid in every single demon’s body to watch them melt from the inside out.

If it was _Heaven_ that was responsible…

Raphael howled loud enough to be heard at least four cells down the hall. He rent the blankets and pillows on his bed, flipping the frame with a mighty crash as down fluttered through the air like snow. Every last piece of furniture was either smashed to pieces, or hurled at his cell door to try and break out. When _that_ failed, he resorted to throwing himself bodily against the door.

Anytime something on his body bruised or broke or bled from the force, he just mended it without a second thought and resumed his frantic attempts at retribution.

“You _fuckers!_ I’ll _end you_ ! _Do you hear me?!”_ he screamed as the small bones in his fists cracked.

He didn’t even feel it.

As he reared back to start his assault anew, a single downy feather floated into his vision. It wasn’t anything special, just a regular goose down feather, but the powder white of it was _so similar_ to Aziraphale’s that Raphael found himself reaching out to pinch it between his fingers regardless.

“Oh...oh my _Azi_ ,” he wept.

The Archangel let himself slump to the floor. He lay there on his side, holding the feather in front of his eyes.

_Is this my punishment, Mother? For daring to love something more than I loved You?_

Raphael kissed the feather with trembling, tear-stained lips. He thought back across the past six millenia.

_Aziraphale embracing him with open arms, when Raphael had been so reluctant to create him in the first place._

_Aziraphale simply smiling and nodding when the other angels called him a “second-tier” angel; it had never been an insult to him to be created by Raphael._

_Aziraphale and his friend succeeding in rescuing humans from the Flood, when Raphael himself had failed to do so._

_Aziraphale risking his life time and time again to protect Raphael whenever the two of them were assigned together on a mission._

_Aziraphale seeking out his_ Qaal _for advice and reassurance._

_Aziraphale and Raphael bonding over their favorite Earthly cuisines and complaining about the ones they felt weren’t quite up to snuff._

_Aziraphale’s face darkening in anger after an argument with Raphael, only to immediately return to its sunny disposition after making amends._

_Aziraphale tending to Raphael’s exhausted corporation after the Healer had overtaxed himself with too many miracles._

_Aziraphale sobbing into Raphael’s shoulder whenever humans suffered needlessly._

_Aziraphale telling Raphael how much he loved him._

Someone was making these _awful_ , shattered noises. Raphael was fairly certain it was him. Clutching the feather to his chest, he curled in on himself as small as he could go and released his wings to wrap around his body like a cloak, shrouding him in darkness. 

In the deafening silence of the room, the only sounds to be heard were hitched breaths and the faint _pit-pit_ of tears hitting the floor.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the dimness in Raphael’s chest flared back to life so suddenly he thought for sure he would be immolated by it. The pain from before returned, but this time, when it ended, it left behind a warmth that Raphael could only attribute to one angel.

He nearly gave himself an aneurysm with how quickly he scrabbled to check their Bond. 

There, halfway down the middle and stretching in both directions was a cord of silver linking him and Aziraphale together. If Raphael had any knees in this Form, he would have gone to them in thanks to Her. Instead, he Called out towards where Aziraphale’s True Form hovered in the void.

**_CALL! RELIEF! LOVE! SAFE?_ **

Aziraphale shifted slightly, but made no other indication that he had heard Raphael. The Archangel cursed inwardly as he realized that his prison cell must be a dead-zone. It made sense why none of his previous attempts to Call to Aziraphale had been answered these past 11 years: he’d been stonewalled by the celestial equivalent of a Signal Blocker!

Still, it was enough of a relief to know that his little Azi was unharmed. He wasn’t quite sure _what_ had happened to their Bond earlier, but all those questions could come later. 

Armageddon was still on the horizon.

*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

**Raphael at EVERY Billie Eilish concert:**


	10. The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives

**London, The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives**

Raphael was still wearing his tattered jeans and “Cats - 1998 Broadway Tour” T-shirt that he had been wearing when he was first imprisoned, when he touched down on Earth for the first time since 2008. He was just so eager to get back that he hadn’t bothered changing out or cutting his hair (which had grown long in captivity - the only reason he didn’t have a beard to match was because his corporation rebelled at the mere  _ thought  _ of it).

A few things about Soho had changed since his imprisonment, but he was relieved and delighted in equal measure to find that A.Z. Fell & Co was still standing as sturdy as it had ever been. 

He peered into the windows, hoping to find his Azi inside, but only saw the quiet, darkened shop beyond. It was clear Aziraphale wasn’t home. Raphael huffed and straightened out, combing a hand through his hair. He hoped his son would return soon; he had so many questions to ask!

_ I still don’t understand why my siblings set me free, _ he thought to himself.

Gabriel had opened the door to his cell with a haunted look and clothes that smelled faintly of Hellfire smoke, but Raphael hadn’t bothered sticking around to inquire further or listen to the other Archangel’s words about “failed execution”; he had simply booked it back to Earth as fast as his wings could carry him.

Just as he was considering popping over to America to grab some Taco Bell while he waited, he caught the faint smell of a demonic presence overlaid with the scent of expensive cologne. He sniffed the air a few more times, then turned to face the source.

Crowley stood but a block away, his arm held out protectively across Aziraphale’s chest. Common sense would dictate Raphael leave right away after his visual confirmation that Aziraphale was safe, but common sense took a backseat to the power of a long-awaited reunion.

“Azi-Raphael!” he exclaimed, meeting the other’s eyes.

And he ran to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*

**MEME BREAK**

No memes this time, but Raphael is a Tuggoffelees shipper.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading about Raphael as much as I did writing him! There's currently a sequel in the works taking place directly after the events of "Of Raphael" wherein Crowley gets to know Raphael better, and the Archangel adjusts to living on Earth full-time. If you have any questions about Raphael or suggestions of things you would like to see, you can always visit me at Candyqueenblog.tumblr.com! Be sure to check out my other works while you're here for more shenanigans!


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